


Sugar Plum and Cavalier

by Jessa



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Human, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bonding, Companionable Snark, Explicit Language, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Magnus POV, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:15:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28234512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessa/pseuds/Jessa
Summary: Magnus and Jace are dancing in a production of The Nutcracker. Magnus has been dancing the part of Sugar Plum Fairy. Jace has been dancing the part of Sugar Plum’s Cavalier. It’s Christmas Eve, something of a triggering time for them both, and they bond while removing their makeup post-performance.
Relationships: Magnus Bane & Jace Wayland, Magnus Bane/Jace Wayland
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	Sugar Plum and Cavalier

**Author's Note:**

> For the Advent Calendar Event, the prompt for December 24: Christmas Eve.
> 
> Thanks for checking this out <3
> 
> I've had this idea in my head for a little while so it's nice to have an excuse to finally write it. May you find the things you need to soothe your aggravated skin and fill the holes inside your heart these holidays.

Magnus smears a last layer of moisturiser over the wing of each of his cheekbones and takes a moment to notice how soothing it feels against his overworked skin. When Jace sits down beside him, to begin to remove his own makeup, Magnus takes another moment to notice him too.

“You were tense tonight,” he says quietly, turning his head discretely so that none of the other principal dancers can overhear what he says. He knows Jace wouldn’t want that. 

“So were you,” Jace murmurs. 

Magnus watches, concerned by the way Jace physically attacks himself with the sponge as he removes his own makeup. A lot less gently than the way Magnus just did it, having already burned all his self-hatred up on the stage. Younger dancers never seemed to run out of it though and Magnus has observed that Jace is no exception.

“You still danced well,” Magnus adds. “I’m not suggesting that you didn’t. Your off-days are most people’s best ones. But when you held me during that last sequence, I simply noticed that you were tense. Forgive me for being concerned about you.”

Jace pauses the assault he’s still making on his face. “I always dance well,” he hisses, looking pointedly at Magnus. “You, on the other hand, were off by a half-beat in that first section. What the fuck was that about? I wasn’t tense. I had to fucking slow down and wait for you. I nearly lost my footing. Nearly. Wouldn’t let you affect me that much though. So don’t go getting ideas about your impact on me. It’s lucky for you that I'm as good as I am, and can slow down without fucking up. I can handle myself. I don’t need your concern. So save it for someone who does.”

Magnus contains his usual sigh. That’s the only thing he saves for this nightly beration by Jace of their performance of the _pas de deux_ , no matter how perfectly either of them dance it. He doesn’t contain his thoughts though and that is just as usual. 

“Much as I enjoy these debriefings we have, Jace, you know I add a brisé there. For you. That Brad idiot from the crew never lays the fucking scarf in the right place on the wagon and you have to unfurl the thing before you start to pull it. It takes a half-beat, I’ve told you this.” Jace ignores him at first so Magnus adds, “Honestly, who that man is blowing during intervals in order to keep his job I can only guess at. Although I could make you a rather specific shortlist if you wanted me to. And before you ask, I’m not on it. It’s not me benefiting from that error, darling. Much as I wish it was because he’s pretty enough to suck my dick, I’ll pay him that.”

Jace snorts. Then quickly his face returns to projecting its usual emotionally-distant arrogance. But not soon enough. 

Even though Magnus was hoping for it, he is surprised by this slight slip from Jace, who never reacts much beyond returning vitriol to his attempts at humor, which these days feel almost as overworked as his skin. 

With that thought in mind, Magnus begins to gather the used sponges which litter his side of their shared dressing table. Wondering whether to say something further or whether to try something else instead. It’s Christmas Eve after all. Not that it makes an iota of difference to Magnus. Maybe he should cut the whole company some slack, including himself. It’s exhausting being this bitter. 

Before long, however, Jace has made the decision on his behalf. As though it does make several iotas of difference to him. “I fucking hate Christmas,” he grumbles. 

Jace has turned away from Magnus to look at himself in the mirror again. His hands are poised mid-swipe at his face. A red mark has bloomed down one side of his nose where he has over-aggressively dug out foundation from between the crevice of his nostril and cheek. He starts to silently attack the flaming spot again. 

With a calculated flick of his hand, Magnus sends into disarray the pile of used sponges he’s just gathered. 

“I hate it too,” Magnus says as the sponges bounce across the dressing table and he selects one, once they stop. Its tapered end is heavily coated in bright purple rouge recently divined from his own face. He starts to daub at the table-top with it. Gently at first, making prints that are carefully spaced. But after a time his actions become more forceful. And the prints begin to blur until he’s just daubing an absentminded mess.

“Stop that,” Jace says, taking his hand mid-daub. 

Magnus looks up at him. “Why?” he asks. “You’re attacking your face with your sponges, why can’t I attack something too with mine? Why are you the only one allowed to do it? They’re my sponges, I can do what I want with them.”

“Because you’re making a mess,” Jace says very plainly. Because very plainly Magnus is; that’s the point.

Jace knits his brows together and Magnus watches the way his bi-colored eyes flick worriedly over his face. “You missed a spot,” Jace murmurs. “Too busy acting juvenile, I suppose. Can’t even take your fucking makeup off properly. Here…”

Jace releases Magnus’ hand. Magnus watches him select a clean sponge from his pile of unused ones, daub it in remover and then make a clumsy attempt to grab Magnus by his chin. Magnus withdraws his face speedily from reach.

“Excuse me,” he says with a very uncontrived amount of superiority. It’s an intuitive response around Jace. “I did not hear you ask for my permission before you attempted to touch my face. This is a dressing room, not a stage.”

Jace blinks. “Huh?”

Magnus turns to glance in the mirror. “Besides, I know you’re lying,” he murmurs, turning his face one way and then the other, scrutinising his bare skin. “There are no spots I’ve missed... You, on the other hand" - Magnus turns back to face him - “Well, you are in clear need of help.”

Magnus takes back the sponge Jace still holds and dips the end not coated in remover into his own pot of moisturiser. He holds it up to Jace’s face. “Hold still,” he murmurs. “Unless you don’t want me to touch you? Because otherwise I’ll put this on your face, Jace. You’ve nearly taken off a whole layer of your skin.” 

“S’fine,” Jace mumbles. “Do whatever, go ahead… But if I'm a liar then you're a hypocrite. You let me touch your hand before. You didn't seem to mind too much about that.”

“My hand is not my face, Jace.” Magnus shifts a little closer to him, expertly pistol-gripping him by the chin and starting to very gently daub at a red spot on Jace’s cheek. “And do whatever? Really? Well, if you want me to do that” - he stops to recoat the end of the sponge and then he returns to Jace’s face - “Then perhaps we ought to leave right now. Nevermind all this skincare. Whatever certainly doesn’t require me to see your face while I do it... Although it would be a shame not to see it.” He leans back and inspects his work. “When you’re not tearing it to shreds with sponges, angel, your face is a very becoming thing.”

Jace snorts again. “You’re a horny asshole, did you know that?”

“I did.” Magnus dips the sponge back into his pot of moisturiser and then he starts to work on the sore-looking spot on Jace’s nose. “But I’m not saying any of it to get inside your Calvins. Raj is an adequate alternate but he is certainly not anywhere near the caliber of dancer that you are. And I will resign on the spot if tomorrow you don’t show up to the matinee because you’ve needed a skin graft overnight to fix this situation with your visage.” Magnus stops to study his work again for a moment. Then he recharges the sponge, even though by now he’s just going over all the spots on Jace’s face that he’s already carefully tended to. “So tell me… Why do you fucking hate Christmas?”

Behind them, dancers are starting to pack up their gym bags and leave. People are kissing and hugging and farewelling each other, wishing each other Merry Christmas. Magnus and Jace just remain at their dressing table while the room begins to clear. While the ambient noises die. Getting more and more lost in a world comprised of two that doesn’t care where they’re going or why.

“It’s just always the same old shit, you know?”

Magnus pauses his daubing again. “You mean working? Working at Christmas sucks?”

“No,” Jace says. “I like working at Christmas, keeps me busy. I did this performance last year too... Different company... I only joined here this year.”

“I know,” Magnus says. “I remember that day. And afterwards… Close your eyes for a second, angel, I’ll do your lids.”

“Do you still go to that club?” Jace asks, as Magnus daubs across the delicate skin between Jace’s brow and lash line.

Magnus sighs. “No,” he admits, moving to Jace’s other eye. “Too many memories there... Fortunately, in this city, clubs are as numerous as hearts that haven’t yet broken mine.”

Jace snorts for the third time. Magnus frowns, wounded by it this time. The trouble with sarcasm was always that it shifted the spikes and sometimes even Magnus himself couldn’t tell where cynicism ended and real hurt began. Although it did seem that it began here. “I wasn’t being funny that time, Jace,” he murmurs. 

Jace’s eyes open and Magnus nearly stabs him in one of them with the sponge. He huffs at the interruption. “Darling, I didn’t tell you to open your eyes, you nearly lost one then.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Y’know, really, you do have a spot on your face, Magnus... I don’t think you can see it ‘cause those bulbs were probably bleaching it out when you looked before... You got glitter on your cheek, I’m not pretending... And I dunno about sponges but that shit definitely stings if it gets in your eyes... So, you wouldn't like for me to miss Matinee? Well… I wouldn’t like for you to miss it either because you fucking went and did something dumb. Like got conjunctivitis.”

Magnus gives up a small smile. “Conjunctivitis?” he asks dubiously. “That’s a big word, _Jason_.”

“You can get that from glitter in your eye, you know,” Jace says. “Never happened to you as a kid?”

“I am more than sure I got plenty of glitter in my eye as a kid, Jace, yes.”

He chuckles. “Not _glitter_... Conjunctivitis.”

“Oh,” Magnus says, returning to daubing at the skin beneath Jace’s eyes again with no real intention this time apart from to be near him, and to enjoy the way his eyes roam Magnus’ face while he is. The way his knees rest against the sides of his thighs. The way they sit as close as they need to in order for Magnus to tend to Jace like this. The way Jace lets him.

“I don’t think so,” Magnus says. “Did you? And by the way, you can answer about glitter or conjunctivitis, take your pick.”

“Yeah,” Jace says, chuckling again. “I got conjunctivitis plenty of times… Although no-one ever did too much about it. Usually I just got told it was my own fault for not washing my hands, some shit like that… Man, soon as I could, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough... Do you know what I mean? I’m never goin’ back there and I fuckin’ hate Chirstmas… It just reminds me of all that shit from before, you know? Or... Well, maybe you don’t actually... Maybe you hate Christmas for a different reason to me. Unless you only said that to make me feel better.”

Magnus looks at him very carefully. The red spots on his skin are still pronounced. “Does your skin feel any better now?” he asks. And then, even though it’s a lie, he adds, “It’s not looking quite as red now.”

“Yeah, does,” Jace says. “That stuff you use is nice, whatever it is. Feels cool, like, um… menthol? Or some shit. Better than what I have. Just sorbolene from the supermarket.”

Magnus gives up another small smile. “Nothing wrong with that… Hypo-allergenic... Mine is that too, the cooling agent is spearmint... It’s all I buy these days, everything else just seems to dry my skin, even sorbolene... But your skin is so soft, you could get away with using anything, Jace... You’re so punishing of it though. I hadn’t noticed that before.”

Magnus is still holding the sponge. The tapered end Jace loaded with remover still glistens with an unused bead of it. Magnus watches with interest as Jace’s hand reaches up from his lap and toward it.

“So,” Jace says quietly, “I’m asking you this time, okay?” He pauses just before he touches Magnus’ hand. “Can I take that off you? And then… Can I get that little bit of glitter off your face with it? Would you mind?”

Magnus shakes his head. “No,” he smiles, “I wouldn’t mind. I would be grateful, actually... Wouldn’t wanna get conjunctivitis.”

Jace chuckles. Magnus lets him take his chin, in a carefully thought-out pistol-grip this time, and tilt his face to one side.

“Jace is a pretty name,” Magnus murmurs as Jace starts to work. “Was I right? Is it short for Jason?”

“No,” Jace says curtly. 

Magnus can’t see what he’s doing. He can just feel Jace’s hand on his chin, the gentle daubs he’s making on his cheek with the sponge, and his soft breath falling on his cheekbone as Jace concentrates on removing the remnant glitter from Magnus’ face.

After a while, Jace says, “Short for Jonathan… But I hate that name, don’t ever call me that.”

“I promise not to,” Magnus says.

Jace lets go of his face and Magnus relaxes. They look at each other for a moment in silence and then Jace begins to tidy his side of the dressing table, packing away his equipment slowly. Magnus starts to do the same, binning the used sponges in the little flip-top tidy beneath the table and wiping up the patch of purple rouge with a tissue, and binning that too. Magnus and Jace both pull on sleeveless hoodies then, and shoulder their freshly-packed gym bags. Ready to leave and go home.

“Well,” Magnus says, with a sigh he doesn't save this time because why the hell not, it's Christmas, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Jace. I won’t wish you Season's Greetings but I hope you get home alright.” Magnus turns to go.

“So you did only say that to make me feel better, huh?" Jace's voice makes him pause. "Because, you know, you never actually told me why you hate Christmas... Guess you are a liar but that's okay, I understand... I don't always tell the whole truth either.”

Magnus is only half-turned towards the door and Jace is still within his sight. He lets his eyes roam Jace again. And he feels Jace let himself do the same thing. 

“It feels like,” Magnus says quietly, “There are some things that are meant to stay in the past, Jace. And there are definitely many things that I don’t hate. Many pleasures I still immensely enjoy actually. It’s just that Christmas is not one of them anymore, that’s all. But that’s not to say that in the distant past I didn’t used to enjoy it. And it’s not to say that some year soon I mightn’t come around to enjoying it again.”

Jace’s eyes are steady. They don’t waver. They stare Magnus down as though his words are a gauntlet; that this little speech he’s just given’s a challenge. Magnus holds his breath because it is.

“I don’t suppose you want to go somewhere now do you?” Jace asks. “Like… I don’t mean a club or anything like that just, you know… Drink?”

Magnus releases the breath. “You are indeed,” he murmurs with it, “Cavalier, aren’t you, darling?”

Jace grins. “Yeah,” he says. “So? You say you won’t dance with alternates. I’m the only Cavalier you’re gonna get. Your one and only... So you better fuckin’ remember that, Sugar Plum.”

Magnus leans back and laughs.


End file.
